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CLASSICAL MUSIC; Bucking the Biggest Odds of All

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WHEN JEFFREY Tate raises his baton in the Theatre du Chatelet here on Saturday evening to invoke the Rhine music that begins Wagner's "Ring" cycle, two dramas will be unfolding: that of the composer and that of the conductor.

Wagner's conception of the "Ring," which began in 1848 with a "Sketch for a Nibelungen Drama" and reached its fruition in Bayreuth, Germany, in 1876 with the work's first complete performance, encompasses the conflict of gods, giants and dwarfs, and traverses a vast mental world, ranging from Norse saga to Buddhist philosophy.

For Mr. Tate, a committed Wagnerian who has already conducted distinguished performances of two "Ring" operas, "Das Rheingold" and "Die Walkure," the opportunity to conduct the whole cycle, lasting 18 hours over four evenings, fulfills a long-held dream. But beyond the musical event, the achievement carries personal significance. Mr. Tate suffers from a major disability: a spinal malformation resulting from congenital spina bifida and kypho-scoliosis.

During his childhood, in Farnham, England, he was subjected to leg irons, rigid body corsets and operations that left him bedridden for months at a time. Although he was saved from life in a wheelchair, one leg is dwarfed and almost useless, and his spinal structure is so twisted that his internal organs are permanently compressed.

Undaunted, he proceeded to earn a doctorate in eye surgery at Cambridge. At 26, he abandoned medicine to pursue his first love, music; he trained as a repetiteur and became a much-respected coach at the Royal Opera, Covent Garden, then under the musical direction of Sir Georg Solti.

"I have been one of Jeffrey Tate's greatest supporters from the very beginning," Sir Georg said recently. "In all our work together he displayed the innate musicianship and talent which have made him the success he is today."

At 35, to the surprise of many, Mr. Tate successfully conducted a performance of "Carmen" in Gothenburg, Sweden. It seemed that his limited lung capacity and weak back muscles would not allow him the physical stamina to sustain a career as a conductor.

But Mr. Tate is not averse to challenges. In little more than a decade, he became principal conductor of the Royal Opera and of the English Chamber Orchestra, music director of the Rotterdam Philharmonic and principal guest conductor of the Orchestre Nationale de France. He has chosen to ignore the medical realities. An insurance expert once set his life expectancy at 48. He is now 51 and embarked on the biggest conductorial test of all.

"I ought to feel more frightened about this 'Ring' project," he said over a quick bite in a bistro near the Chatelet during a 10-hour day of rehearsals. "But I've been veritably steeped in the work for decades. I coached it for Georg Solti and Colin Davis at Covent Garden and for Pierre Boulez for six seasons in Bayreuth." Mr. Boulez called Mr. Tate's contribution "invaluable" and spoke of the "amazing results" he achieved with the singers.

In 1983, Mr. Tate turned down an opportunity to conduct the cycle at Bayreuth; he had been offered the second in a series of performances otherwise led by Sir Georg. "I felt that it would have been difficult for me to have any kind of personal imprint," he said. "I wanted to do it in a place where I could lay down my own artistic conditions. I've now found that in Paris. It's a great thing for me to concentrate only on the 'Ring' for seven months of my life, to do nothing but walk inside its world. The 'Ring' is an inexhaustible fairy tale. It takes you over completely."

In this joint production with Radio France, Mr. Tate will conduct the Orchestre Nationale. The international cast includes Robert Hale as Wotan, the head of the gods, and Gabriele Schnaut as Brunnhilde, his favorite daughter. This cycle, to be presented five times, will be the first complete "Ring" produced here since World War II by a Parisian theater rather than a visiting company.

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For Wagner, Paris was the city of illusory hopes. The expectations he brought with him on his first visit in his late 20's were quickly shattered; he faced extreme privation while composing "The Flying Dutchman." Two decades later, his revised version of "Tannhauser" was hooted down at the Opera by the white-gloved members of the Jockey Club. He was in Paris again at the beginning of 1862, when the Chatelet was being constructed across the Seine from the Ile de la Cite.

"The Chatelet is very little changed since Wagner's day," Mr. Tate said. "It has a fantastic relationship between the spectators and the stage, and favorable acoustics for the singers, who, if I do my job properly, will be able to sing in a truly lyrical style, as Wagner intended. The stage machinery is relatively primitive. We won't have laser beams, amazing elevators and all the trappings of a modern technological production. Our interpretation will be largely symbolic, suggestive of the work's mythological roots. The producer, Pierre Strosser, and I want above all to make the inner story as clear as possible. The key to Wagner is the meaningful inflection of every word in its context."

MR. TATE'S FACE AND hands are large and expressive; his eyes shine brightly behind his glasses, and his speech flows exuberantly. More than most conductors, Mr. Tate, who directed plays by Ibsen and Shakespeare during his Cambridge days, takes an intense interest in the dramatic side of opera production.

"I see the 'Ring' as very much the tragedy of Wotan, a man of supreme intelligence who misuses his enormous possibilities of power and recognizes, too late, the devastation that's been unleashed," he said. "The element of redemption through love is there, but power remains the central issue. I think our civilization runs a strong risk of ending up like Wotan and his fellow gods. We've let loose on the world the Pandora's box of our way of life."

Wotan's tragedy carries personal resonance for Mr. Tate. "Perhaps partly in reaction to my disability, I've always valued those things that are finely structured," he explained. "I love our earth and fear we are destroying it. The 'Ring' is in advance of its time: it sees the world as finite. In that sense it's an ecological parable. It also tells us that despite the misery and scarring we've inflicted on the planet, there may be hope for regeneration."

Walking back to the theater, Mr. Tate sought for artistic parallels to Wagner's achievement. "For comparable breadth of design," he said, "you have to go back to the 'Oresteia' or to Shakespeare's historical dramas from 'Richard II' to 'Henry VI,' where the corruption of power is again a major theme. On another level, a parallel can be drawn with Proust, in the effect of the structuring of time over a large scale. The whole of 'Remembrance of Things Past' is illuminated by the final book, just as the final pages of 'Gotterdammerung' bring a new dimension to our understanding of the whole 'Ring.' "

Time has played a special role in Mr. Tate's life. "The awareness that I'd possibly have a short life span has acted on me both positively and negatively," he said. "The negative side is that ever since my childhood, I've had terrifying moments when I've suddenly felt acutely aware of the fact of death. The positive side is that I've tried to live as intensely as possible. I entered my 40's with great relish, sensing that I was coming into my own as a conductor. But now, as I enter my 50's, I feel that I have yet other goals.

"The 'Ring' is, in a sense, a watershed. Whatever happens afterward in my career is a little more irrelevant. Fifty means to me that I can no longer put things off. There are books I will need to read, places I will need to visit, people I will want to see."

Mr. Tate's mental and physical vitality might be the envy of anyone with or without a disability. He has no time for self-pity. Cane in hand, he moved with characteristic swiftness along the Rue de Rivoli.

"When I was told that my life expectancy was 48," he said, "I felt that it just couldn't be true; I have too much energy inside me. Conducting has made me much more able to cope with the world and myself. On a physical level, it's improved my muscles, improved my breathing. And of course, when you do what you love best, an enormous amount of satisfaction is fed back to you. Fifteen years ago, after performances, I felt totally drained, and people would say that I looked ghastly. Now -- when, as always, I exert myself to the maximum -- they tell me I've never looked better."

A version of this article appears in print on June 19, 1994, on Page 2002025 of the National edition with the headline: CLASSICAL MUSIC; Bucking the Biggest Odds of All. Order Reprints|Today's Paper|Subscribe